Author: Sheila

Not all of it…some of it was normal, even joyful, fun, adventurous. There was travel, and there were milestones. There was love. There was a lot of work, with effort spent toward family needs, clinic responsibilities, and the daily stuff of life.

And there was shock, tragedy, and devastation.

2017 brought the loss of my son, and with him, something I can’t really define. I’ve written about his death on Facebook, and here on my blog…it’s pretty much all I’ve written about in recent months…talked about it with family and friends. But regardless of the words I use, or how much I say, I’m not satisfied. I can’t really explain the impact, or the sadness.

At 57, I don’t think it was loss of illusion, or naive expectation of life. I’ve been around the block, and I know about hard times, the reality that life hands out surprises, some of them fierce and awful. Some that take your breath.

But losing Alex…I just can’t describe it. It’s a reality I can’t deny. But I haven’t grasped it either.

I can’t fathom that 2018 will dawn, and the only imprint of him on the new year, and the years to come, will be from memories. How is that even possible?

We were supposed to be with him for New Years. Instead, we’re mourning him.

I replay, in my mind, talks we had when he was strong, and determined, and driving toward his goals with purpose. He was undaunted.

And I want to claim that for myself. Not in denial that Alex is gone, nor in expectation of getting over his loss. Some things you don’t get over.

But I ask myself, what would his words be? He’d be philosophical, and tell me that he made the choice he felt was right for him.

Though I can’t see that point of view, there’s no doubt he believed that.

And believing that, he would expect the people who love him to be accepting. We didn’t always agree, but now, there’s no opportunity for argument, or changing his mind. Now, the only option is to accept.

I think about the year ahead, and I know I want to approach it with grace and love, appreciation for what we had, and looking toward the future.

The future with Alex will be in another time and place. But the future with others is here and now, in 2018.

I have a responsibility to the ones I love, and the ones who loved Alex, to be here for them. And that means more than being just physically present. It means being engaged, and connected, not lost in a fog of grief.

It’s only been three months, and to be honest, some days I’m shocked I’m upright, and forming coherent sentences. And to be honest, not all my sentences are coherent.

Other days, I glimpse the future. The ache is in my heart, but I gather myself to do more than mourn. I gather myself to do, and to mourn.

Neither death, nor life, can be ignored.

When I was thinking about my word for 2018, I knew it had to be a word of strength, and determination. Like Alex, I want to be undaunted.

Some would view his final choice as anything but undaunted. Some would see defeat. Or loss of determination, even weakness. But I see someone who believed he had reached the end, and was undaunted by the decision he faced.

I wish I could talk him out of it…help him see a different path, and a different way to live undaunted. But I can’t. I believe he died that way. Undaunted, and making the choice he believed was best. Even if it was a choice that broke hearts.

My choice is to live undaunted. It’s easy to say, and so challenging to confront. What does that even mean? And how will that look, in the coming year, when I’m still raw and walking wounded?

I think it means learning to live with loss, and grief, in ways that both honor Alex, and honor the lives around me. It means being the best I can be, in the midst of mourning. That’s what I’m learning. I’m not just mourning. And I’m not resuming life as though this never happened. I’m combining these realities, and my responses to both.

Spending the last week with Riley and Jack shows me how important this is. We talked about Alex, cried over him, missed his laugh and presence, shared some stories. But we also opened gifts, and played games, and celebrated the here and now.

If I sound like I know what I’m doing, like I’ve figured this out…well, that’s just me telling myself this is what I have to do, rehearsing it out loud, and in print. This is my choice, based on Alex’s choice.

I wish I could continue living the life I had before October, but that’s not an option. So, my word for 2018 is undaunted, the only way forward.

Like this:

I’ve written about this on my Facebook page, shared a lot of the detail there. But I can’t go back to blogging without sharing the story here, as well.

Our world changed on Oct 4. Really it changed on Oct 3, but we didn’t know that until the night of the 4th.

That was when we learned we’d lost Alex to suicide. It happened the day before, but it took several hours after he was found in his apartment in Denver to get word to us through official channels, in Alaska.

That knock on our door changed so much.

It plunged us into a surreal world of sadness, loss, questions, statistics, and community.

The initial shock, disbelief, and the follow-up trip to Denver passed in a blur of unreality, mixed with the stark practicality of death. No matter how devastating, death demands decisions, and actions.

We left Alaska on Thursday, stopped in Seattle to connect with our daughter and son-in-law, and landed in Denver on Friday afternoon. Although we knew from the note Alex left that he requested cremation, we had to sign the paperwork to allow for that, and begin the process of procuring a death certificate.

The death certificate was the key to having authority to address Alex’s estate issues…deal directly with his bank, his apartment lease, his vehicle. Though he was single, and a minimalist, there were still multiple tasks required to close out his physical life, and see to the responsibilities of legal and financial requirements.

Working through everything in a short time-span, we hardly had time for his loss to sink in. Looking back, that was a blessing. I don’t know if I could have made it through that week if I hadn’t been largely numb, still in shock. Faced with the necessity to empty his apartment, decide what to do with his car, and make arrangements for cremation, we literally worked for the next week, almost without stopping, except to visit with friends…some mutual, and some new acquaintances, who were friends of Alex.

That was priceless time, allowing us to connect to people he knew and loved, people he worked with, friends from his past, people we’d known as a family during the years we lived there. It was a precious gift of shared sorrow, but also of shared joy, celebrating the man he was, and the man we lost.

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You hear yourself talking about things you never imagined you’d discuss. What to do with his ashes. Deciding what to keep of his personal belongings, what to donate. Each possession becomes a question to debate…first, because it was his, and the smallest of his things are suddenly sacred. And second, because…how do you decide, in the emotional whirlwind of unbelievable loss, what will be significant in the future? The obvious things are easy…but so much is not obvious, standing in the apartment of the son you loved, trying to realize what this really means…that he has no more use for these things…that he’s done with them, and yet they’re suddenly your tangible link to his life.

Although humans live with the idea of death, and the possibility of it taking anyone, at any time, for any reason…you never think it will be your child. Your son. And we never feared suicide for Alex. I worried for him when he was deployed in Iraq with the army. I used to mark each call and email on my calendar, so I could see, at a glance, when we last heard from him during that 13 months. I worried for his safety when he was working security, and when he was driving for Waste Management. I worried about him being in an accident on the road. As a driver, he was out in all weathers. I worried about him working with heavy equipment.

But I never worried that he would take his life.

Even though he fit the profile of someone at higher risk for suicide…young, male, a veteran without a stable relationship in his life…we didn’t see him as someone at risk. We knew he was seeing a counselor through the VA, but he dismissed those sessions when I asked him about them. He made the counseling sound like more of a formality…just something he had to do, as his honorable discharge from the army came with a PTSD rating.

He always seemed so strong, so sure, so determined. He was well-connected to friends, to a job he enjoyed, to his routine of working out, going out, taking care of himself. He was in a good place, for the most part. Most of all, he was intensely, vibrantly alive. He had energy, humor, drive, and plans for himself, with friends, and with us.

He was also lonely at times. We knew that. He and his long-term girlfriend had been through some on/off cycles, and he was struggling with that. Ultimately, from his note, that was the trigger, though we believe the PTSD was a contributing factor as well. Ironically, he had gotten rid of his gun collection, because she didn’t like them. He obviously kept the one he used. Now, I wonder if he kept it with this in mind, or if he kept it for target shooting, or as a weapon for self-defense? We don’t know, will never know. How I wish he had disposed of it, along with the rest!

Rob and I talk a lot about Alex…what happened, what we might have missed that would have allowed us to intervene…we talk about him, the boy and the man, the son we love and miss so much. He’s never far from our thoughts.

This is what I’ve learned, these past few months, living with a grief unlike any other I’ve experienced:

This grief is like clothing. Sometimes it’s the outer clothing I wear. That’s when the tears come so easily, triggered by the smallest of memories or links. Sometimes grief is the layer underneath the face I show to the world. But whether it’s visible to anyone else or not, I’m conscious that grief is there. Ever present. Palpable.

Grief can be triggered by anything, however insignificant, or even seemingly disconnected…because suddenly, there is significance between the one grieving, and the one lost. A scent, a word, a photo, a food, or something random that triggers a memory…a favorite color, music, a place, a line from a movie, a joke…anything that takes you to that person, in a flash of remembrance. There may be a flood of tears, a laugh, a sweet longing. There’s not one possibility for response, but many.

I realize that Alex was a grown man, and he had friends and connections who are strangers to us. I’m grateful he had many people in his life, that he was well-loved, by others as well as us. We didn’t own the man, we just had a piece of him. I’m thankful for our relationship with him, thankful that we’ve had so many of his friends share stories of his kindness, his humor, his integrity, his place in their lives. I’m thankful for the man he was. I’m thankful for the memories we have, of calls and texts, trips to see him, and for him to come to us. I’m so thankful for our last family vacation in April.

Grief has a positive side. Feeling the intensity of Alex’s loss, I’m even more conscious of other family and friends…how important they are to me, how much I want to spend my time with them in ways that are memorable.

Grief makes me appreciate so much. I appreciate that my son and I had a loving relationship, that the last words we ever said to each other were “I love you.” And the best part is, that was our usual way to say goodbye. We didn’t speak those words out of some sense of healing a wound or mending fences. No bridge building or fence mending was needed.

I appreciate the connection he had with each of his family…for the ties that bind, and continue, even now. I’m thankful for the messages we read, the photos we have, that remind of us the good times, the funny exchanges, the humor and joy he brought to our lives.

I’m so thankful for the years we had with Alex. I’m so thankful that he was with us 30 years, that we saw him grow up, and we knew him as a man.

Mourning my son has freed me from fearing death. I used to be fearful of what was beyond. But since my son is on the other side, I’m not afraid to go there now.

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We’ll do a celebration of life event for him, when the time is right. For now, I’m not ready or able to spread his ashes. But the time will come, and when it does, he’ll be in Colorado, the home where he grew up, and the place he chose to be his home as an adult.

For now, each day is a new experience of learning the depths of this loss, and how to keep living, when a part of us is gone…how to make sense of this, as best we can. We talk, cry, go through our days, look at photos, connect to him in a hundred small ways, and get up the next day to do it again.

We look for ways to honor him. He was a dedicated blood donor, so that’s a new focus for me. I hope to arrange digital blood drives, and plan to donate myself, as often as possible. Others who knew him have joined me in this.

We’ve used Alex’s choice to connect to others who might benefit from some part of his story. We’ve been given an opportunity to reach out, through Alex’s death, and we take that responsibility seriously. It’s not a community I expected to join, but once you’re a survivor of a suicide victim, you become more aware of others’ circumstances, and ways you can help in the fight for life. We speak respectfully, but seriously, to say…don’t do this…please don’t consider this option. Please choose life.

******************

We have a few pieces of Alex’s affairs still to work through. Next month we’ll turn in his phone. We kept it to help with managing his accounts, and to be honest, because we couldn’t face disconnecting his phone number just yet. His Facebook page is still up, though we should probably transition it to a memorial page. We plan to request his records, to find out if he had a diagnosis of depression…if there was a clinical condition that contributed to his choice. And we have a series of significant dates to get through…holidays, his birthday, the first anniversary of his death.

I don’t expect to get over this. We’ll be the rest of our lives absorbing his loss. How could it be any different? There are many definitions of grief: “grief is love with no place to go;” “grief is the last act of love;” “grief is the price we pay for love.” It’s all true. And the realest definition of all: grief is our new normal.

Like this:

The last time I posted was July 7. The months since have been a whirlwind of travel, work, family, guests, and healing.

Yes, my foot is healing. It seems slow to me, but since this is my first experience with a broken bone, maybe I’m just impatient. I’m still wearing flats…no heels since June 30, which is a long time for a short woman to go without a boost in height. But thankfully, the pain in the fractured area is almost completely gone.

We trekked back to the South in July to see parents and extended family, and took a few extras with us. Riley and Jack and Stephanie made the trip and soaked up cousin and grandparent time.

Jack found a sign with a familiar name:

There was crafting (thank you Pinterest!)

And we ate just a wee bit…both my mom and my mother-in-law are cooks of the first order. And we had to have Cock of the Walk fried catfish. No trip to Mississippi is complete without that familiar stop. This time we worked it in on our way back to the airport. We were down to the wire, but we got our fill of the classics: hush puppies, fried dill pickles, and the star of the show, southern fried catfish. (If you’ve never had this southern staple, do yourself a favor and put it on your list to track down. Make sure the fish is farm raised, and that you find a good restaurant with a cook who knows how to fry. Your best bet is to go south.)

Stephanie and the kids went home, and Rob and I spent a few days in New Orleans between visits to parents. Although August in Louisiana is not for the faint of heart, the old downtown areas of the city are charming, and the food was amazing. I’ll be having some more of that next time I head south. 🙂 We celebrated our 36th anniversary, and walked off some of the calories, exploring the French Quarter, visiting the National WWII Museum (which is excellent),

and wandering through the Arts – Warehouse District, and up, down, and around Bourbon Street.

We ate at three wonderful restaurants, trying something different each night we were in town. And each was an experience worth repeating: Revolution, Domenica, and Restaurant August. You know you’re in a food paradise when everyone gives you their top restaurant picks and everyone has a different list…there are so many great choices! And we didn’t even go to any of the iconic restaurants. I wanted to eat where locals eat, and we hit the jackpot. I seriously think you can’t go wrong in that city, as far as dining.

Also fun, at breakfast we had watermelon juice. Now how cute is that?

And shrimp and grits. Ah, food of the south!

Now, ask me about the humidity and that’s a different conversation! It takes a lot for me to feel hot enough to appreciate air conditioning, having lived without it for most of my life…you just don’t need it that often in the foothills of Colorado, or in Alaska. But I was grateful for it in New Orleans! I honestly don’t know how people survived in the south before AC.

I never go south without bringing back a little something. This time I hit tomato season, and although I never really get my fill, I had several tomato sandwiches during our visit (only white bread, mayo, sliced tomatoes and salt, thank you!). And I brought back enough to have a round of BLTs in Alaska. Just another tasty thing I hand carried all the way. Lucky for me, tomatoes are allowed through airport security!

We had some cousins come up for a week after our trip south, and got in a little bear viewing:

And finally, Riley and Jack just spent a week with us, their first time to visit without parents. It was fun, and reassuring that I could find my way back to child-caring mode. We’d kept them before in their home, but this was their first time to stay with us in our home without mom and dad on hand.

Oh, we had a good time!

Neighbors shared kids to play with and a trampoline to jump on.

There was a fierce Uno battle, and we broke out the Chinese checkers.

The weather cooperated while they were here. We had beautiful days and perfect evenings.

There were shenanigans:

And just when I thought Jack’s energy knew no bounds, he crashed.

Last Saturday they had their first float plane trip, traveling from the Metlakatla airport (also known as the float plane dock) over to Ketchikan, to catch the Alaska Airlines flight to Seattle.

It was a fast trip to take them down on Saturday and head back up Monday. Sunday afternoon, we made it to a local fair:

And now, catching my breath, I know why the past two months have been a blur, and why I’m pooped!

Why, hello, September, and all things pumpkin! It was a glorious summer, but I’m ready to get cozy!

Like this:

Walking…we take it so for granted. Just last Friday I was walking effortlessly, no thought required. No planning for how to get myself around.

In fact, in our current state of car-less-ness (that means we don’t own a vehicle) I walk more than I drive, or ride. It helps that we live about a five-minute walk from the clinic where we work, so walking to the office is simple, something I do in all weathers.

Last Friday I was walking to work, as usual. Laptop bag, phone, and coffee in hand, I was within sight of the door when I mis-stepped…tripped…slipped…something happened. Suddenly, I was flat on the ground, everything I was carrying scattered around me, and I got up with that stunned and shaky feeling of “what just happened?!” You know the moment when you’re not sure if you’re about to laugh or cry, or laugh and cry.

Well, you know how awkward you feel in these little situations. As I began to very carefully pick myself up, not sure yet if I’d done any real damage, embarrassment kicked in, and my initial shock turned to hope that no one saw my spill. I felt like a cartoon character with the wind knocked out of me and my dignity spilled on the ground with my coffee. You know the very flat version of a cartoon that’s suddenly one dimension? Yep!

Not that I have that much dignity to be concerned with…I’m not one to walk around thinking too highly of myself. But it’s never fun to be upright one moment, and splatted on the ground the next. It’s the shock factor, you know?

I gathered myself and my belongings, beginning to think about my technology and hope it was all safe (only a few months ago I dropped my phone and experienced the trauma of a shattered screen, and let me tell you, that left a mark!). I got inside the door and then hobbled to my office to inspect me and my things for damage.

Skinned knee, check. Cracked glass on my phone, check (though this time it was only a lower corner, so not quite as devastating as before). Laptop was ok, thankfully it was in a padded case. Coffee was mostly saved, thanks to my indestructible container! 🙂

The real damage was to my foot. There were no protruding bones, but it hurt. It hurt quite a lot, actually! I was wavering between “I think I’ll sit down and cry about this” and “no, no, I’m fine, really!” You know, that song and dance you do when you hope if you downplay a situation, it’s going to be ok without intervention. If you need intervention, that’s never good.

I remembered I had a conference call scheduled that morning, so I decided to go back to the house and join the call while I sat with my foot propped up. I dug a bag of frozen green peas out of the freezer drawer and put it over the now-rapidly swelling part of my foot. Ahh…better!

Ouch, that hurts!

I babied it all weekend. And it did feel a bit better by Monday. But wisdom said it would be best to have it x-rayed and know for sure if I’d fractured anything.

Peter, the x-ray tech at the clinic, was hopeful right along with me. He told me he’d x-rayed breaks that weren’t swollen at all, and injuries that looked terrible but were fine. So I confidently thought my foot would fit in the latter category…not pretty, but hey, I was walking on it, right? Well, limping, anyway.

Um, no, not right.

The radiologist’s read found a fracture in the 5th metatarsal. It’s the type that sometimes doesn’t heal well…you have a “non-union” of the fracture, and 20-30% of these breaks end with surgery to repair the damage. That’s a wee bit alarming to hear.

So this is my new look, for the coming weeks:

My summer fashion statement

No cast, but a rigid-sole shoe that keeps me from bending my foot as I walk-limp around. I’m pretty motivated to be compliant. I have no desire to be in the 20-30% group and be meeting a surgeon later this summer! My hope is to be done with my new shoe by late July. I’m traveling then, and I really don’t want to be sporting this lovely look. I miss my heels already! And Riley and Jack are spending a week with us at the end of August, and I definitely need to be my fully-mobile self by then. Have you ever tried limping to catch a four-year-old?

Anyway, the whole experience reminds me just how much I take for granted. Like simple walking. The ability to go and do and manage life without crutches, boots, or hobbling around is so important.

After a vision of spending the summer in a cast, or on crutches, or needing a wheel chair to get through airports has sunk in, I’m mindful. I was told to have my foot x-rayed weekly for the next three or four weeks to keep a check on the healing progress, so I’ll do that. I was told to take calcium, so doing that. I was told not to flex my foot, so I’m trying to be very aware of that movement, and avoid anything that will stress the injury.

Who knew a simple mis-step could cause all this bother?! Still looking for the upside here. The best takeaway so far is to be more empathetic toward anyone limping around and dealing with injuries. (Not that I wasn’t sympathetic before…but now!) It’s definitely not fun, and puts a damper on life when you have to think about every step…is it worth getting up to do (fill in the blank)? And already feeling a bit off-balance makes me uncomfortably aware how easy it would be to trip and re-injure myself. I don’t like feeling limited, or lacking confidence to do the most basic thing we humans do…just walk.

If you’re walking around without having to think about it, be thankful! And be careful! Trust me, the slightest mis-step, and you too could be modeling the latest fashion in the healthcare shoe industry!

Well, here’s hoping to be done with this in a few weeks. Looking forward to wearing heels again, and having matching shoes!

Like this:

Tomorrow Americans celebrate the birth of independence, the birth of country, the longevity of the United States of America. We’re old, by some reckonings, barely started by others.

We’ve had glory days, amazing stories that fill our history books, our movie scenes, fill our hearts with pride and nostalgia. We rightly remember the heroes, the brave ones, the hardworking backbone of this country.

And we’ve had the other…the moments, many captured to live indefinitely online, that haunt and hurt and damage our national story. We’ve had days of sorrow, internal family feuding and fighting that’s hateful, and embarrassing.

We’re all siblings, of a sort.

National siblings.

Lately, I’ve wondered…are we, the citizens of the United States, really worthy of the freedom we enjoy? Do we deserve the rights and privileges we’re so accustomed to having?

Do we take voting seriously? Do we know about the issues, take time to understand more than the sound bites and talking points that we’re already drawn to, by our pre-determined stances and opinions?

Do we look for candidates who will be leaders, or do we just check boxes when we vaguely recognize a familiar name?

Do we bother to learn about local issues, the unexciting realm of politics that influences school boards and community elections? Do we know what’s happening at the level of governing we can all be a part of? Do we participate in our own back yard?

Do we look for ways to help? Or are we just enjoying the show, enjoying the role of critic without the burden of involvement?

Do we look for the good of the whole? Are we focused on self-interest, or are we interested in our siblings…our national siblings?

Are we nurturing a nation, caring for our collective integrity and honor?

Sometimes it seems like we’re talking all the time, but not really saying anything worthwhile.

Is anyone even listening anymore? Or are we all talking over each other? We can all feel good that we’ve had our say. But did anyone hear anyone else?

I don’t have all the answers, nor does anyone else. Our issues are big, and getting bigger. Our debt is enormous, and our resources are limited.

But our hearts are not limited. Our imagination is not limited. Our capacity for compassion and hard work is unmatched.

Rather than hoping we can reach agreement on all our many areas of conflict, I hope we’ll look for opportunities to make actual contributions to real needs. I don’t have to agree with someone to work beside them for common good. And there so much that we can do if we choose to cooperate, instead of using our energy and time to tear one another apart.

Tomorrow we celebrate the heroes of thought and words who conceived a land built on freedom and liberty. We celebrate the heroes of action who brought the idea to reality. I hope we’ll also be celebrating the heroes of quiet deeds, the people who continue to make the United States great…the people who give, generously; who care, ferociously; who live, courageously; and who love, whole-heartedly.

We are siblings, all of us citizens. We’re national siblings, and we need to remember that. We pay a price to live in this land. Freedom isn’t free, even for civilians. There is a cost to everything, for everyone. And I’m not talking about taxes.

Like this:

It’s not often my summer begins with the Memorial Day weekend, even if the end of May marks the unofficial start to the season for the rest of the US.

Most years in the past decade I’ve been in SE Alaska, and while spring is in the air by the end of May, summer is definitely not.

The past week found us in Virginia Beach, checking out a different side of the country, a different beach experience, and yet, oddly enough, with the same weather we thought we left behind us in Alaska: chilly, rainy, overcast. I understand this is unusual, just the luck of the draw. But still…I packed for different temps!

Finally, to launch the beginning of the weekend, we had a glorious day of sun, views, travel and music. A nice cap to our trip, and we also enjoyed a moving history lesson walking the length of the Virginia Beach boardwalk, reading the posters honoring events in US military history, and the beginning of the holiday now known as “Memorial Day.”

To celebrate the sun coming out, we left Virginia Beach and drove south. Sitting on top of North Carolina’s famous Outer Banks (OBX) was too tempting, so we made the easy drive south to explore another region of the Atlantic coast.

A couple of hours down the road you find yourself in the chain of communities that form the upper group of holiday / tourist coastal towns: Kitty Hawk, Kill Devil Hills, Nags Head.

Where did they get those names?!

Headed down we drove through rural NC communities dotted with restaurants offering Southern food at its finest, barbecue, fresh crab and other local seafood, and fresh produce markets. Couldn’t resist stopping at a couple of these, picking up tomatoes, peaches, cantaloupe, jam, corn, and muscadine bread. (For anyone unfamiliar with muscadines, these are a type of grape which grows in the South.) You can make anything from jam and jellies to wine, eat them fresh off the vine, or, apparently, use them in baked goods. I’ve never eaten anything baked with muscadines, so this will be a first!

I didn’t buy asparagus, but these were so tiny and beautiful I couldn’t resist making a photo.

In the midst of our rambling, we visited the Wright Brothers National Memorial, honoring their historic and life-changing first flight, back in 1903. Though Kitty Hawk often gets credit for the location of the first flight, it actually happened in Kill Devil Hills. There’s an impressive monument to their feat, which continues to impact life…and I doubt it’s an exaggeration to say every life…on the planet.

The Atlantic was a heavenly blue with brilliant sunshine out to herald the arrival of summer. Honestly, I could have been happy just driving the coast, taking in the views, soaking up the warmth, and appreciating the mix of kitsch and beauty.

But we were only out for the day, and by late afternoon made our way back to Virginia Beach.

At the end of the day, we wandered down to find multiple outdoor concerts, restaurants, visitors biking, walking, eating, playing on the beach…a mix of ages, styles, cultures, languages…a melting pot, all around us.

It was a nice reminder of the meaning behind the holiday, and how everyone living in this country in peace and freedom owes a debt of gratitude to those who’ve made it possible.

We’ve explored the Boardwalk a few times during our stay, but the other times we’ve been out have been more a fight against the wind and rain. This walk was leisurely, strolling and reading posters highlighting critical points in US history. I learned a few things about the various wars and conflicts that dot our history…these are just a couple of examples:

Thank you, people of the past who made a difference, and gave your all doing it! Looking back at the past, the eras of bygone sacrifice, fears, victories and losses is sobering, but also reassuring.

It’s our responsibility to honor the past, but also to safeguard the future. And we do that by living with courage, respect, and thoughtfulness. How are we caring for the legacy of freedom today? That’s a question everyone has to answer for themselves, and the answers will vary, depending on the lens you use to filter. I think the best we can do is to live with personal integrity, value life, and understand that differences don’t have to divide. They can actually make us stronger, if we allow for that.

Like this:

This year, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t need to send flowers or do anything long distance for Mother’s Day. Over the past week, I’ve spent time with my mother, my mother-in-law, and my daughter. And of course, I’ve been with the littles. Wonderful to give gifts and love in person!

Beautiful mothers all, the inter-generation connection is sweet and powerful to experience, as I’ve been blessed, again, to touch people who are part of the fabric of my ties that bind.

My goal as a mother was to be the best example, parent, friend, and teacher I could be. Of course I didn’t always live up to my aspirations, but I tried. That much I know. And that’s all any of us can do…we try, and keep on trying.

I learned so much from my mom and my mother-in-law about the work of parenting, of friending, and of the on-going nature of mothering. Watching my daughter parent reminds me of the stages and the changes of this life of motherhood…how it shifts and grows, widens and deepens with the years.

Thank you to all the mothers in my life…for the joys, the patience, the humor, the tears, and the memories. It’s been an amazing experience, and a gift that keeps on giving.

The natural state of motherhood is unselfishness. When you become a mother you are no longer the center of your own universe. You relinquish that position to your children. ~ Jessica Lange

Like this:

Sunday morning comes, bringing hope to a weary world, to those who can hear, who choose to hear.

Hope is the engine of life. Without hope, we have nothing.

Hope motivates us, sustains us, teaches us to have patience, and gives us joy. Hope gives us anticipation of good to come, of a reward and rest at the end of all things.

Easter, and in fact, every Sunday, is a reminder, to those of Christian faith, that hope is secure…that we are secure.

One of my favorite Bible verses is Hebrews 6:19, with these beautiful words:

We have this hope as an anchor for thesoul, firm and secure.

The hope we have is Jesus, our “forerunner.”

Sunday morning comes, and Jesus gives us hope.

I often doubt myself. I don’t live up to my intentions. I’m in good company, I think. In fact, the rest of the world is right there with me…some days are better than others, but I fail as often as I succeed.

Where would I be without hope beyond myself?

Another of my other favorite verses is Mark 9:24.

“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”

I don’t have hope in myself. I don’t always believe in myself. I fall down, I let myself down.

But I have hope in Jesus, and he is the anchor for my soul, not me. He is the one I believe in, not me.

When I know who I’ve believed, I know where to put my hope.

He makes it easy. His burden is light.

What about you?

Happy Easter, as you think about this wonderful, solemn, joyous, amazing day!

Like this:

It’s that time of year when spring cleaning joins the line-up of regular chores. I don’t think spring has really arrived in this little corner of Alaska, never mind what the calendar says. But I’m ready to be out of winter mode, so I’m ignoring the chilly temps, and the fact that yesterday it snowed again. I’m just getting on with my list.

This year spring cleaning comes with a twist.

We’ve moved into our clinic housing twice in the past five months. The first time was in November. The second time was last weekend, after a total move-out the week before to have the flooring replaced.

Let me tell you, that was not in my game plan!

The community owns this clinic housing, provided to us as a benefit to working here, and to their credit, they maintain it nicely. I’m not sure of the processes at work…maybe there was grant funding that had to be used, or some other resource that was specified for maintenance work on these homes. Anyway, right after we moved in, back in November, we learned that the flooring of all six clinic homes was slated to be replaced this spring.

Alrighty then! Let’s just say that information motivated me to unpack very lightly.

Understand, I’m almost always a fan of new and improved, and I’m certainly grateful for any housing updates that come my way.

But, I didn’t foresee it would mean a total emptying out again, and being displaced for a week while the work was done. I had an unrealistic expectation of doing it room by room, sort of a vision of being able to move things from one room to another without moving out.

But nope, it was not to be. We emptied as much as we could into the garage, and the rest went into shipping containers, while we went back to temporary housing.

When I peeked in on the house last week, it looked like a construction zone. Equipment everywhere, flooring in various stages of being torn out and replaced. The appliances, the baseboards, even the toilets were removed so the new installation could be put in, wall to wall. And that’s as it should be.

While the furniture was out, we had a large accent wall painted, and that’s brought some much appreciated color into the every-room-in-the-house-off-white look.

We have new wood-look vinyl throughout the house, except in the two bedrooms, which have new carpet, installed in squares for easy replacement.

The dark floors look great, seams matched and neatly finished. The guys did a good job, and I tried to show a little extra appreciation with snacks and treats over the course of the week, in true Southern style. Southern women have a need to feed, I think. (I don’t know if it’s programmed at birth, or when that response is installed, but the reflex is automatic. People working? Bring food!) I think they got the message that I appreciated their efforts.

The past week has been all about restoring, touching up some walls with the off-white paint, adding a bit more of the accent color, cleaning up, and settling, again. (Putting fresh paint on walls is like a contagious virus…I see the finished look, and begin to think…hmmmm..what else needs a touch of color?)

Aside from the new floors and paint, the upside is that every surface has been wiped and refreshed. The process of ripping up the old material put a fine film of something over all the flat surfaces, so there’s pretty much no inch of this space that hasn’t felt the swipe of my cloth, and a little disinfectant sprayed on to add to the feeling of clean.

I’m one of those odd people, I like to clean, I’ll admit that. But even I don’t usually do my whole space in a week. Looks like I’m on the ball this year, thanks to this floor project. And because the appliances were all moved out to accommodate the work, even the space under the fridge and stove are clean. Aaahhh!

So, if you’re looking for motivation for spring cleaning, just go ahead and replace your floors. I guarantee you, the one will induce the other! Nothing like a little remodeling to get you moving!

Like this:

“Let it rain on some days,
Let yourself shiver on some cold nights,
So when it’s Spring you’ll know why it was all worth going through.”
― Sanhita Baruah

After a snowier-than-usual winter, this week brought some sunny days, and with the first day of spring, a spring in my step as well. Sunshine will do that for you, when you live in a rain forest! 🙂

You’d think that in SE Alaska, snow would be common. You would be wrong, at least at sea level, and in this small region of the state. Rain is common, storms are common, but not snow. This year my boots got to walk all over town as I had the chance to wear them most days the past six weeks. I’ve turtle-necked my way through, and now, as April approaches, I’m looking forward to shedding a layer or two. It will be nice to put away gloves and scarves, and walk out without the extras.

As winter leaves, I feel the flow of spring-time energy. I picked up a paint brush yesterday to freshen up a wall or two; such a simple thing, but exciting after a hiatus of tackling projects. Spreading color on the walls was therapeutic and nourishing, a visible illustration of what I felt happening in my spirit.

I’ve filled the pantry, and after two years of minimal cooking, I’m trying new things, dishing up old favorites, and using cookware that’s been out of sight and out of mind.

I’m reading again, books that speak to my heart, and some new finds prompting me to thought.

I’m thinking of the curious combination of spring strength and softness…the strength it takes for green leaves and tiny flowers to push into the sunlight and the softness of the early morning sun on my face as I walk to work. I think about the strength it takes to keep moving and growing through all the phases of life and the softness of heart that comes with experience and age. (Sometimes hearts harden with age, but I’m choosing not to do that.)

Strength and softness: that’s the combination I want in my life. I love strength of spirit, will, and courage. I love the softness of kindness, generosity, and gentleness.

Spring reminds me that the harshness of winter is disappearing, and the sweetness of the next season is here.

Seasons exist in all realms of life, and seasons of energy, creativity, and accomplishment are no less real than the seasons of the calendar. Manifesting in different ways, the results are sometimes visible, sometimes not.

I’ve learned that human seasons rarely match up with the calendar. I’ve learned that sometimes you can push yourself into the next phase of life, and sometimes, like a flower waiting to bloom, you have to wait for your next season to arrive. Some things you just can’t hurry.

I’ve learned that you can’t force what isn’t ready. “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”

When you’re ready for a new season, it will appear. In good time, but not before you’ve done the work to be ready to move forward.

The past couple of years have been quiet, times of growth and discovery. And those times are vital. All humans need time to percolate a bit, time to let life flow around and over, time to make sense of what was, what is, and what’s changed.

I sometimes call it wandering in the wilderness.

Good to do, but also good to come out of.

No epiphany required for the sunshine of springtime to remind me, it’s time to get busy. Time to paint, and plant an herb or two, and a flower or two, time to create in the kitchen, time to shift to a new season.

And while my hands are busy, it’s good to practice the values of strength and softness.

How about you? Are you feeling the pulse of springtime? Tell me about it? I’d love to know what spring sunshine prompts in you!

Cease Striving...Be still...Know God (Ps 46:10) Sounds peaceful, right? Peace-filled is more accurate. "Still" has little to do with activity and everything to do with state of mind. Welcome to my crazy life!

I'm Michelle. This is my blog. I write about women and fatness, expound upon semi-coherent thoughts I have in the middle of the night, and offer tough love to those in whom I am disappointed; they are legion.